The Other Paris
by Matthew s. Lewis
Summary: X-files story, case, being added to. Mulder and Scully find themselves facing something horrible preying on the seemingly innocent. Will be around 10 -20k words.
1. Horrors at Home  1

August 10th 1994

Paris, Tennessee

4:10 AM

Pamela Argens loved the way the air condition felt after a long night. She would set under it for hours on end, her own little luxury spa, and envision a ship setting to sea that was hers and hers alone. It was an odd vision because it roughing it consisted of a deck and straws and yet was positioned a raft, perhaps taking both a portion of dread she had and a portion of want kept inside and mingling it in her mind. She often thought this was what her friends talked about when they mentioned the joy of taking baths but she wasn't exactly sure; she had never been one of those people that chased frivolous things. Buying bubblebath and collecting lotions from places like Bath and Body seemed to set her teeth on edge. Still, the temperature at 65 and the cool hum blocking out all other sounds - THAT was something she looked forward to. Her body understood and it thanked her.

Pamela stretched out, trying to get as comfortable as she possibly could, allowing her body a much needed break from the grind her job demanded. Her sectional sleeper had been an impulse by but she loved it and its bright trim, allowing her to both feel comfortable and proud because she had done something both functional and aesthetically pleasing.

As she moved and wormed in the seat she often told herself that the sore straining of her legs and back were something that she imagined as well, like her life on the raft was not perfect all the time. There were the elements and the seas to contend with, and the sea spray had to be problematic. It all had something to do with the love of the sea, which oftentimes conspired against people. Reality-wise, some things were more of a burden that others and, honestly, she could use more relaxation and a fewer 12 hour shifts.

Being a factory line worker had its pros and cons, and sometimes the cons seemed to outweigh everything else in her life. She worked and she worked, both weekdays and weekends pressing parts for the automotive industry, and the end of those shifts saw her practically begging her maker for a few more days off. going home, that sometimes changed her mind. She never imagined herself here, sitting in a house with the sound of neon humming against the ever-cooling backdrop, but here she was and here she planned on staying. It only took that word, home, to remind her of why she did it all and why it was worth the fuss. Just driving up to her newly renovated townhouse spoke to her in ways all the other so-called Success Stories could not and said things like "see, it really does lead somewhere." There was her huge bed in the next room, the impulse items she loved looking at all around, and all of the trimmings she had EVER hoped for sitting in a home. Even her sink had a detachable end for quick use - how awesome was that?

Granted, everything was not always so grandeur. Pamela still watched Infomercials as sleep strode across her body and she sometimes dreamed really big dreams. There were the freedoms in the minds, the ones outside of this place, wher money grew on trees and heaven was just another word for living. It might not have been original but tit was always hers and hers alone.

There were other things in her life as well, relationships and failures and this relaunch of the "S.S. Emboldened," but all of that was out of her control. At the end of the day she couldn't honestly say why her boyfriend had chosen another lover and she didn't know why she couldn't get hitched or have kids. Maybe that was just her lot in life.

A yawn broke through the silence and Pamela stretched, rubbing her eyelids. A little rumble followed immediately afterward and Pamela laughed quite loudly, noting the call to arms saying, "you MUST invade the refrigerator!" She liked feeling that way, the laughter part, when you bubbled up enough that you felt like you were going to burst. The eating part - that was something else.

Pamela looked to her side and wondered if the tropical fruit she had been dreaming was real but, no, she hadn't had a thing since she got home. If it were up to her she would keep it that way, with thoughts constantly calling and saying she needed to diet.

Diet.

Damned infomercials.

Still, the stomach called.

Yawning, she pushed herslef from her comfort and moved, trying to adjust her sight so the floor would stop moving. One foot dropped after the other, carving a weary trail through the plush carpeting that felt so good on her feet, and she smiled, thinking of what would come next. There were leftovers in the fridge from her favorite eatery and, at the end of a long day, who wouldn't want a rib sandwich?

She had no idea that she had just smiled her last smile, dreamt her last dream, and had tasted her last bit of tropical paradise. She had no idea that her last thought would be on that closet and that noise and the horrible stench that seemed to come when madness called.

She did hear the jingling sound and the snapping sound and even tried to do something before fate came calling but it would have been like stopping a bullet train in a nightgown.

Nothing worked, it never did.

Screams filled the night.


	2. The Call 2

August 15th

Quantico, Virginia

2:34 AM

A phone rings somewhere in the night.

A tired voice answers.


	3. The Case 3

August 15th

F.B.I. Headquarters

8:01 AM

An elevator opens and two figures emerge, both clad business attire. One wears a dark black suit like a second skin and the other has on the feminine version complimenting the first. They seem so much like opposites in some ways and also a perfect fit in others, like two polarities crashing together.

They both walk in unison, like friends entering a maelstrom. She, in her flats, and him in his polished shoes and black socks. He has a longer stride than her but, strangely, the two seem to move in one fluid motion, as if they have been together for quite some time.

The two seem attune to one another.

She seems serious and he seems all laughs - until the two of them walk through into the hall. then things seem to become something different, like the world is somewhat out-of-order.

Normally everything in the F.B.I. is a mirror of prim and posh. There is a certain sterility that coats this world, from the prim and proper hue of the suits and ties to the way things fit together on desks and hidden cubicles. Everything seen and unseen has its place here, and everything has its purpose when put away and shelved.

It seems like a tool tuned into crime fighting, like a bullet shot from a gun.

And then there is the basement.

There, in the midst of everything, is a desk with a poster behind it. A picture of a possible U.F.O and the words "I want to Believe;" it seems like a mantra that explains everything around it. All the strange items and the weird pieces of the puzzle, all of it intrinsically linked. There are other oddities, too, ranging from a menagerie of trinkets to books on a variety of subjects. Meteorites, bomb-tests and their limitless applications UFology, Draconology; those are the first things that catch some people's eyes but they certainly are not the limits of the collection. Not by a longshot.

Then there is the small metal filing cabinet to the right of a lone desk, setting like a specter in the room. Some people see it as a challenge, some as a crusade, and some as the link to the most bizarre ramblings in the F.B.I. The X-files.

As the two figures walk in and look around, everything seems especially chaotic , even more than usual, with items parked all over the place. The office is even seemed more cluttered if it could be that, almost making it too "Chaotic with a capital "C"." The two figures seemed perturbed by this as they are forced to move from side-to-side, dodging items. Boxes were everywhere, stacked one on top of the other, almost sprouting from one another and leaving a very untidy picture about the residents.

The man speaks.

"I guess the maid took the day off," Mulder mumbles as he steps over a smaller box and sidesteps a larger one.

"Or maybe the Home Shopping Channel isn't something I should use as a guide to Live by."

Mulder then looks over at Dana Scully, a little bit of sarcasm slipping through and making its way around the room. He seems to be waiting on something, a response perhaps, before moving on.

"Or maybe someone thought moving around the furniture might get a new response."

She looks toward him.

"I wonder if they are always going to see the x-files as a threat?"

Dana moves her head a little from side -to-side, still tired and unable to get her bearings. She hasn't even had a morning cup of coffee yet and Mulder has already become his usual, chipper self. Considering how much he eludes sleeping, where does he find the time. Despite herself, Scully is / was amused by the fact that nothing ever seemed to dent his armor.

She smiles at him wearily.

"Mulder, why did you call me and tell me that I had to come in right away? Couldn't I have at least gotten to hit the snooze alarm one or two more times?"

"You know the saying, Scully. You snooze, you lose."

"Well, I feel like I've lost something."

As the words settle on Mulder, Dana notices him looking over to the corner at something, and as she follows his line of vision, she notes he has already set up a presentation.

Where does he find the time?

"Do you EVER sleep?"

"Only in my dreams."

Scully yawns a little and stretches, almost laughing despite herself.

"You're going to try to sell me on bigfoot again, Mulder?"

Mulder sighs and his hands move a little.

"That was a film on the Yeti and the way it has influenced religious beliefs, and no."

Mulder walks over to the desk as Dana picks up a cup of coffee, allowing her mind to breath in the flavor. It was going to be one of those days. She knew it when she heard his voice on the phone.

Mulder picks up a small remote and then walks over to the lights. They drop to an incandescent level and Scully sighs to herself, low enough that she can hear it but Mulder cannot.

"You're gonna love this one, Scully."

"I bet."

The sound of the projector cuts through the air and dust can be seen fleeing.

"Paris, Tennessee, 4 days ago."

A slide falls into frame, casting an image of a post-modernist home into frame. Around it are some areas that look seem to suggest a neighborhood, complete with a large yard and a nice driveway and some rather spacious areas. Directly behind the home is a path of woodlands, opening up and almost yawning in what seems to be direct sunlight.

To Scully, it looks like midday in the photograph.

"One Pamela Argen, 38 year old separated female was found in her home with apparent signs of a struggle."

Slide 2. A body in horrible disrepair. It is stretched out and oddly slumped, with signs of a struggle all around. Blood coats everything, from little partitions to large areas of the wall and floor. Still, the body is hard to see and the hard to examine mentally.

"Someone checking the power noticed the smell and alerted the police. According to their experts, she had apparently been dead for several days."

Slide 3. Close-ups of the scene.

"Her killer apparently left some gruesome mementos, with marks all over the body."

Mulder pulls out a pointer, noting one area.

"Teeth? Claws?" "I'm not-"

Scully interrupts, "Are you sure that this is all one person?"

Mulder nods and clicks the projector, moving the slide once more.

Slide 4. More crime scene photographs. focus is now on the room but catch the body, noting how badly the mutilation was that occurred.

Scully stops him before he moves on.

"I can see how you might find this interesting, Mulder, but what does this have to do with us? We investigate oddities, remember, not a murder in a small town."

Slide 5. another area of the home.

"The police called us in, Scully, apparently at a loss for a few things. One, they were wondering how someone would be able to make those marks"

slide 6

"that high on the ceiling and "

Slide 7

"what it would take to leave those types of marks on a person?"

"They do look odd, Mulder, but what left it? A garden tool, perhaps."

Slide 8 An item.

"Not unless the claw they found came from a really angry garden mole looking to vent his frustration"


	4. Fight, Flight or Carpool lane? 4

August 15th

F.B.I. Headquarters

8:50 AM

Mulder and Scully discussed whether or not to drive to Tennessee in detail. Normally these things are not a big deal but the method of transportation is in dispute. Scully feels the weight of the discussion after a few moments and knows she could have Mulder take her side if she just asks him - and asks him and asks him. she has that way with things involving him, they have developed a kinship by now.

Besides, he called in the middle of the night - again.

Scully prefers flight today, knowing there is a direct flight to Tennessee and knowing a terminal is close, in Nashville. She thinks Mulder will agree, but Mulder thinks otherwise.

"The scenery is nice this time of year," he had told her.

"Besides, they have one of the biggest museums on Asian oddities this side of the Pacific."

Scully looks around the office, knowing fully that this collection had come from trips just like the one he was talking about. She thinks about saying something but then lets it go, knowing how much this room means to Mulder. In it are answers to so many pieces of this thing called living, with answers on everything from Nessy to the stars. She even thinks he has something in here that possibly connects him to his sister, if only for a moment.

In the end, Mulder flips a quarter and Scully calls it.

Mulder wins.

They drives.

It is going to be a long day.


	5. The Tennessean

August 16th

The Talking Point Motel

10:14 AM

Scully stretches to the best of her abilities and tries to banish all the thoughts riding shotgun in her mind. She is tired, dreadfully so, but tired isn't one of those things in the F.B.I.'s vernacular. When you dawn the suit and the badge you take on all the responsibilities that come with being in the nation's employ. While that sometimes mean less to some people, to Scully it means that she has a huge responsibility.

The X-files is one of those full on jobs people rarely see, where a case can go on and on and where things could literally drain you. She had seen some things, some really tragic things, that would make your heart cry out. There had been that case with the little boy that Mulder had thought was being tested for some type of compatible genome that dealt with alien life, only to find that he was being used by some rather horrible people. Sometimes she even wished she believed things like Mulder did, in those times at least, because she would rather have that as the work of aliens than the work of humans.

It was all too tragic.

That said, there were good things about the work as well. When she began she was simply there as a tool against one man's mission, but she was nothing if not profession. Things had taken an odd aside quickly, then had gotten even stranger and had seen everyone, their own people included, seek to push them aside. Since then she and Mulder had been working together and had seen and heard things that the F.B.I. had never really focused on. Her medical training had been tested and retested, to the point that sometimes she wondered about the ideas she posited.

She liked that, too, because she didn't know what "today" actually had in store.

Scully really had to hand it to Mulder, even if his ideas were a little extreme. She participated in cases that others could only imagine and had held hands with horrors in a time when many people ran. The two had a nack for getting things done, too, even if they disagreed quite often.

Besides, she had ridden in a car for a few hours and she had gotten to sleep in a bed in some no-tell motel.

What more could a girl want?

Scully had been up around an hour, had showered and dressed, when she heard that knock on the door. Most of the time she was jumpy and sometimes she even pulled her service weapon because of the things that happened to her and her family, but she had grown accustomed to the sound rapping at the door and what it meant.

Sometimes the knock came in code and other times it was just a classic rap on the center of the frame but it always had a certain - something - she had grown somewhat fond of.

Her entertainment for the day was in.

"Coming, Mulder." she said, knowing full well it was him.

His timing was always prompt - or at least better-than-never. They seemed to be skilled at saving one another.

When she opened the door Mulder was holding out the morning paper, almost waving it at her. "Check this out, Scully."

The Tennessean.

"A clue from the front desk of some zealous reporter?"

He smiled.

"Not unless you consider a hayride a clue."

Scully stifles a laugh as she picked up her jacket, knowing the unpredictable nature of the weather in the South and knowing how Mulder might, on a whim, drive them somewhere else.

"Mulder, are you thinking about trying out an all day allergen fest?"

Mulder adjusts his jacket and runs his hand through his hair.

"Well, there was another article, too."

Scully sees that smile again and she knew he was up to something. She knew Mulder's love for the prompting that cases brought out and she knew that he would reveal all the stuff he found , in his own time - of course. He was always like that, always perplexing and yet enigmatically fun, and she noticed the crease he had placed in it, making certain she would see what he wanted her to see.

"Some more Fire in the Sky, perhaps?"

"No, but there seem to be a lot of strange happenings in this neck of the woods."

When she turned to the back, she sees the obituaries. this is one part of the news she normally breezes past, not wanting to take in all that demise. As a doctor she wanted to save people, not note the records of their death. It made her sad inside.

He had marked one.

Raymond Morris, 54, died yesterday morning on Bell Park Blvd. Witnesses say he was mutilated by wild animals after hunting and was found sometime later in his home. He is survived by his Wife Constance Morris, Brother Raymond Morris 4th and Son Raymond Morris 6th. Funeral services will be held at...

"How does this tie into our case, Mulder?"

"Check the address there, Scully."

Scully looks once more and pulls out a final detail. Bell Park Road. The same road that the other death had been on.

"One.."

Mulder smiles and reaches down beside him, picking up a cup of coffee.

"...for the road. Or Bell Road."


	6. The Sound Bells Make

August 16th

12:21 P.M.

Bell Road

As Mulder and Scully parked in front of Morris residence, they noted a beehive of activity.

For one thing, the road was more of a drive, with only a few residences cropping up around a Dead End street sign. A partition had been raised at the end of the road blocking it completely. This was sometimes put in place to offer a measure of privacy, but it also worked to stop cars from driving into a person's living room in the middle of the night or having headlights shining in a bedroom window. Made of gray granite and crumbling, it looked much like the walls left over from the Civil War.

Even the road itself seemed to be piecemeal and in shambles, with little tatters of concrete mingling with whole stretches of newer pavement. There were patches of the road that were filled in with tar and gravel, making a piecemeal collaboration of substances to hold the road together. This was crumbling now, shattered glass to drive on, making the motions bumpy as the vehicle skidded to a stop.

The houses themselves were in differing states of disrepair, with some falling apart and some having a modern feel to them. One actually had the roof ripped off and one seemed to be missing a wall; there were places that should have been outside that were inside and places that should have been inside outside. Only one house had that 1990's style to it and it was surrounded by clumps of yellow tape, marking it as a monument unto itself. Behind these were the woods, towering in some areas and faltering in others, with a variety of sounds echoing throughout.

"Quite a symphony."

"Like a little wooden interstate, Scully."

Adjacent to the Argen home was the Morris house. A bloom of vehicles filled the driveway and spilled into the road, and people parked themselves both inside and outside. The house itself had at least three dozen people dressed in mourning attire standing outside, with every detail seemingly one of mourning. Some smoked, some didn't, and some seemed to have food and drinks. Others were sittings and some were in tears, and all of them seemed to stay in a confined area. It was obviously one of those moments where you pause and say "tragedy." Mulder and Scully could actually hear the sobbing and the crying without really listening and feel the tension and the woe without having to set foot anywhere near it.

Some of the small talk closer to their car seemed to reflect confusion about how this happened.

"See, Scully, it looks like the we have been paged."

"Only in your mind, Mulder."

Scanning the neighborhood for any other details, it seemed like this was the only home with activity. At first it was like this was because of two tragedies happened in such a confined area, or perhaps it was just out of respect for the victims. People often tried to keep from tangling their activities with their mourning neighbor's, and with good reason. Laughing children, partying people; those things tended to rub people the wrong way.

Depsite this, Scully kept getting this feeling, one of unease, that told her something was wrong with the place. She even turned toward Mulder to say something - and saw he was almost out of the car. Off and moving, picking up some pace, like a racer off the bricks.

Scully immediately wondered if this was the wrong time to stop here and get out. Her thoughts of whether they were in the right place or if this place was right vanished and she thought of reaching over and restraining Mulder. He had this timing that could be off sometimes and not knowing him could lead to a lot of unpleasantries.

Mulder did not seem to have the same reservations, however, and almost leaped from the car before it was parked in his rush to get out.

"There's something about this place, Scully. Something I know from - somewhere."

He was speaking to himself, to the breeze, still using her name but like it was the title of his conscience, and Scully knew there was no slowing him down. She had to catch up to at least contain him a bit.

As she exited the car, she kept thinking about how Mulder sometimes went on imagining things but, as they mounted the driveway one step at a time, she felt it, too. There was something in the air itself, something almost lethargic, like this place was asleep. It seemed to breathe in and out as the walls looked on, like a chemical had been released from some gargantuan event or like something ominous was watching from just around the corner. Scully peered into some of the homes, looking for something there, but the feeling was one of a deeper dread, like this place hadn't died a natural death.

"It feels like a retirement community." she found herself saying to Mulder, her mind toying with the image. Armies of old people, dentures in glasses of water, machines running those things that cannot run themselves.

There was something more to it, though, like there was another place.

"Or a graveyard." Mulder filled in, taking the words right out of her mouth.


	7. The Morris Home

August 16th

The Morris Residence

12:57 P.M'

"Thank you, Mrs. Morris, you have been strong for your husband."

"Yes, thank you very much."

Mrs. Morris nodded half-heartedly to Scully, and Scully looked toward Mulder and let her eyes yell "we need to leave." Mulder had spoken to the widow for almost thirty minutes, taking her in his arms at one point and actually letting her cry on his shoulder. It was one of those things that most cases didn't bear witness to and that most reports didn't show, but Mulder had a soft side that she noticed from time to time. She had seen him secretly reflect his pain when he saw children and when he heard about their cases, and she always thought his early work had been because he connected with victims on some level. Perhaps it had something to do with a feeling of shared loss because of his sister or perhaps it was something deeper, something more humane, about the person some people called "spooky Mulder."

Whatever the reason, the results were impressive.

Scully actually admired the skill that Mulder had shown with her, because he not only pulled a woman away from her husband's wake but he had also made it sound like he was doing her a favor while asking her some rather bizarre questions. He even added statements to his interview that made it sound like he was going to track down whatever had done this. In their line of work, nobody made promises and yet Mulder came close.

Sometimes Dana believed Fox actually thought he could do this for everyone, that he was going to rip down the walls to each and every conspiracy. She could understand that because she had seen him proving his case and because she had seen him working out details. The ideas involved were, strange, but the reasoning behind them was almost always sound.

However mad he sometimes seemed, she applauded that about him.

As they went to leave, Scully thought about how happy she was that they blended in somewhat, their attire not standing out too terribly much. That was one of the good things about the F.B.I.; you might not be seen as part of a Keg party, but nobody thought twice about you when you were at the scene of a crime. Mulder seemed to get the message and started heading for the door.

Something changed his mind.

Mumbling something about a restroom, Mulder motioned to Scully and started wading deeper into the house. Amongst all of the people present, it was like being carried deeper and deeper into a sea of faces. Nobody fought or complained. Well, almost nobody.

Everything was open.

Mulder looked over at her, excitement in is eyes.

"Did you hear what she said, Scully?"

"The fact that you made an accident sound like a murder or the fact that you made a woman believe that there was something behind her husband's death?"

"Well, those too, but the other thing..."

"No, Mulder, what other thing?"

"What she said about his room."

Scully thought back to the conversation she had overheard, looking for oddities in any of the details. She also scanned the people in the crowd, trying to see if any of them were listening. It bothered her to sometimes hear the ideas about monsters and mayhem, mostly because the Bureau looked insane for hiring someone like Mulder. Seeing nobody was listening, she turned back to the exchange.

At first one of detail slipped by but then she remembered.

"You mean the room right?"

She could see Mulder's hands moving in a minute clapping motion.

"Yes!"

As Scully thought mentally sifted through the conversation, there were a few parts of her she had chalked up to grief. One of those had been on her bedroom and her husband's last, seemingly desperate acts. The widow had even paused, allowing some words to drift out and into the endless ether.

Apparently every idea didn't bear repeating - something Scully thought Mulder could learn.

Apparently Mulder seemed to be thinking the same thing, because the two of them took the long way out of the house - leading them up some stairs and around a corner and into the room he had been found in. The design was not amazing, and the area surrounding them made Scully wonder what had truly happened here.

If, for example, the man managed anything upstairs then it had to be before his death. Otherwise, he would have had animals chasing him up the stairs and around corners, something even the guests apparently didn't think civil.

As they walked upstairs, they found three bedrooms and a bathroom. Two were opened and had storage items in them and the bathroom door was ajar. Only the one door was closed - the one Mulder had now propped open and was staring into.

Mulder motioned to Scully.

"See anything strange?"

Besides the hunting decor and the bear skinned rung on the bed, there were lots of little items that stood out. A stuffed squirrel playing golf, a fish smiling with dentures; odd hobbies seemed to abound. On one door, however, there was something that seemed to scream at them to be looked at, a padlock on the closet that seemed like it was meant for keeping something in.

Mulder invited himself in for a look.

As Scully looked on, Mulder seemed to do everything but actually lick the lock. He mumbled items like length, iron content, and weight to himself, and he also mumbled directions. From what Scully heard, Mulder wanted to knock down the door to see what was inside. He kept looking at it like it was something out of a pirate story, with a little "x" scribbled into its oak finish. He even ran his fingers across it once or twice, and Scully kept wondering if he would make a sound that noted some miraculous discovery.

"I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, Mulder, but we've overstayed our welcome."

Still, she knew what was rattling around in his brain.

It seemed almost absurd to think he would want to knock it down by force or drag that poor woman here to ask her questions, but Mulder sometimes forgot the delicate balance between curiosity and rules. His reports were rife with mistakes that went against Bureau procedure, some simple rules infractions and some violations of national laws. That was the way Mulder found the big answers he rationalized and how Scully found the strange phenomenon that she somehow ended up with on a weekly basis - knocking down doors just like this one.

"Just a little peek, Scully, that's all I'm asking. Just a little one."

He seemed like a kid standing just outside a candy store, enough so that she wanted to let him in, too, if only for a moment.

More to the point, she somewhat agreed with him. It was a strange revelation and one she wanted to lock away in her mind time and again, that there was definitely something strange going on in this home. Having a lock of that nature on a door fabricated to specs, hoping to hold in something with locks that went well beyond the strength a bank would use...paranoia and overkill were one thing, but on a closet?

Something was off here and Scully knew it. And while it seemed like there had to be some sort of answer for the what and the why, what it could be?

Secretly Scully wondered if the local police department had looked at this and had seen it as something out-of-the-ordinary, or if they had just put it down as one of those weird things people do before they are mauled by animals?

Were people here accustomed to seeing locks like this, or was there some sort of leash law in Tennessee that said you had to lock up dogs over 100 pounds?

Had there not been a wake going on in the building, Scully got the sense that Mulder would have gone down and asked the widow if he could get into the closet.

Possible because he asked her if he "should go back down there and ask her if she had a key."

Sensing his mood elevation, Scully grabbed Mulder by the hand, snapping him out of some sort of daydream, pushing him toward the door. He struggled and huffed, doing his "big bad wolf" impression on everything except the door itself, as if he expected huffing and puffing to blow the house in.

Scully was about to speak when Mulder interrupted, his train-of-thought branching out.

"You see that one, Scully, the house we came looking for?"

Scully panned over to a place with bricks stacked, seemingly more of a ruin than anything else.

"Its hard to miss, Mulder. It still has its foundation and all its walls."

"I wonder if there is something like what we found in there, too, hidden from the world?"

As Scully soaked that in she wondered something else, something more sinister, about this whole place. She wondered if all the houses had secrets like that in there as well and if the people around here had gone to extremes to hide them all.

Was Mulder rubbing off on her?


	8. Splitting

August 16th

1:12 PM

Paris, Tennessee

The rental car seemed to move slower than before, as if it were driving backward. The sound of the road was hypnotic, pressing in and all consuming. Staring at the trees and the peaks and valleys, Scully felt the lids of her eyes growing heavy and fought to keep out sleep. She wanted to be alert.

Scully tried to distract herself with everything that had been going on, and Mulder seem intent on throwing out ideas.

"I've heard about people who have had something try to drag them into their closets, even taking their children away. They say that the experience can be traumatic, and that it can result in all kinds of exculpatory evidence.

"You mean like spiritual goop."

Mulder looked over at her.

"you seem versed on this matter, Scully."

She sighed.

"Yeah, They're Here, we've all seen the movie."

Mulder smiled a little more, then breathed out.

"Laugh if you want, Scully, but there is definitely something odd and I bet it has more to do with them than peace, love, and the NRA."

"You forgot the road kill aspect, Mulder."

It was around then that the two agents agreed that it was time to see how their counterparts in blue lived in this scenic abode and if they really put in the hours. Mulder wanted to see some things about their reports and some things about the town's records, hopefully noticing a thing or two that struck him as odd. Scully wanted to see the body and to see what, if anything, could be gleamed from it.

She and Mulder had been discussing some of the finer points to the case and, while she was interested, she was not far enough along to ask for both bodies.

"Come on, Scully, you saw that place. The people the houses, the SECRETS. Something bad is happening there."

"You mean bad, like horrible bad, or bad, like bizarre bad?"

"You explain the chains on the door and I'll categorize it for you."

"I intend to."

And Scully did intend to explain the chains on the door, after she had some hard evidence. There was always something there, somewhere, and sometimes the answer was a bit more difficult to explain than one thought. That was why there were doctors and forensic specialists and many other teams just waiting on the evidence.

That was also the thing that really showcased the difference between the two of them - one was willing to go on a hunch and one was not willing to go out half-cocked.

Depending on who you asked, each had its day.


	9. The Police Station

August 16th

2:52 PM

Outside Police Station

The old saying about all roads leading seemed especially poignantly with the police station in mind, and Mulder was certain glad to find so quickly. When he set out he had stopped off at Jeff's Gas and Guzzle, picking up a Coca-Cola and a sandwich just in case it took some time. he kept thinking that the day would be a long one and that he would need to prepare. Oddly, the roads here were in great shape and the path was easily followed and it didn't take long to locate his quarry. Now, sitting in the parking lot staring at his sandwich, it was almost as if it were singing him a siren's tune on the fine art of deli meats. He looked at it longingly for just a second longer.

Mulder put it in the glove box and his mind said its sad goodbyes, switching gears almost immediately.

As Mulder walked toward the police department, his mind raced. There were all sorts of things he wanted to know and all sorts of questions he wanted answered. The only way to accomplish this was to go back to the beginning, and that was always tricky. Knowing what the start was sometimes required an equal amount of skill and luck, and finding both was sometimes difficult. Equally tricky was deciding which of his hunches to play out and which one to brush to the side, knowing many of them had a way of either proving or disproving themselves. It took time to figure those things out and time, unfortunately, was one of those commodities he rarely had in stock.

The way Mulder figured things, this was something that perhaps just started taking victims but had its roots somewhere in the past. You only had to probe and pry before all the pieces started coming unhinged. Mulder did not want to hazard too many guesses, knowing that forming an hypothesis sometimes tripped up good minds.

Mulder stopped for a moment to look at the building and its amazing backdrop, taking a second to adjust his breathing to a calmer pace before entering. The trees were there once more, the whole of the state seemed like it was a landscaper's dream factory, and he lost himself for a moment staring into the nothing. He was accustomed to the hustle and bustle of life in the fast lane and he drew in slow breaths, knowing he had to try and breath and match everyone's pace here.

Looking at individuals moving in and out of the building, Mulder noted that the pace here was lax and indifferent. The uniformed officers seemed bored, high-tech toys and low-tech resolve both setting unused on and around desks, with many people just standing and talking instead of moving around. There were some nice computers here and there, some new and some old, and he used this as a guide to avoid conversation, locating where the hub of the office happened to be and where he should go.

Mulder felt comfortable here and made himself at home.

One thing he found amazing about this place was just how invisible he sometimes felt. He could walk right up to their evidence lockers and rifle through much of their inventory and nobody seemed to notice - or care. There files he wanted, the items he needed, they were all available without a fight. If the X-files were always like this then he would be out of work. He wondered if it had to do with the suit or perhaps his look or a combination of the two.

Mulder scribbled down a mental note to see if he could find an answer to that sometime, if only for curiosity's sake.

Mulder had been inside the building for almost thirty minutes before someone asked him to see some identification, and twenty more minutes passed by before a Detective Ludlow popped in to see how things were going. He had already made himself at home before that time and asked if he could stay where he was. He was told yes and that made him happy. Mulder then asked where to find some files to get him start and was told that it would be a minute.

Another two hours passed before Mulder found the groundwork for the two cases he had been looking for, and another hour before he noticed some variations in the pictures he saw.

There were little things here and there that did not seem to fit into the equation, and more bizarre pieces of the puzzle that seemed straight out of some Twilight Zone marathon. Things ran together when investigating, sometimes forcing a person to take a second glance, and Mulder was on his sixteenth by them. The items were starting to form a string of questions that looked like dominoes that sort of fall into place.

For one, the marks on the first body were far worse than anyone had managed to pass on. In the photographs he first looked over, there were lines that went diagonally across the skin, hacking in at certain angles but leaving questions about what the weapon could be in others. now, the answers seemed much more perplexing because the weapon did not seem like something he recognized. The way the patterns rose and then fell, crisscrossing themselves, it seemed like the victim had been more than assaulted. It looked like they had been fed to a gargantuan cat and like someone had let them play with the body for hours.

While a mess and staging is oftentimes the result of a killer, this seemed to have the markings of someone discarding the prey in a violent struggle and yet causing massive trauma in ways that were normally reserved for car crashers or machine accidents. They normally did not involve other people and they certainly didn't just happen up a set of stairs.

There were also the little pieces of something that was scattered all around the and a little something extra, not seen in the first group of pictures. Mulder tried to examine more of whatever it was, but the evidence locker only contained so much and, apparently, nobody thought to bring in any of whatever he could see. Examining the picture, it looked like a piece of fingernail, only larger, scattered all over the floor. f a person lost that much of their own nails, they would be immediately recognizable because they would have lost all their nails and some of their finger in the process, not to mention flecks of bone and blood.

Along with that there was another something pressed on the walls that looked almost cooked, like something had been left on the stove long enough for it to turn to ash. As Mulder poured over it he saw it a few more times but the places it popped up in seemed to change, like it only lasted a little while and then disappeared. He wondered if that meant it was environmental, biological, or something different but had no answers.

He wrote it down in a little notebook he was carrying, wanting to answer that one later.

Along with that were also were also signs of marring on the door in the first bedroom as well, like there had been something across at least one of the doors in the home keeping it from opening. From what he could see, he would have guessed that the marks looked like teeth and like teeth from a bear or something larger. The person that took the photographs had taken a lot of instrumental pictures of that area itself, hoping to show the gravity of the marks, and Mulder noticed a lot of strange things about them like the jaw would have had to be almost humanlike but the teeth seemed like something out of a bad dream.

In ten other examples the strange ash was also on the door, and there were small indentation in the kitchen that seemed to suggest that something - large - had been in the house. One of the counters was crushed, the couch had what looked to be a footprint embedded in it, and three distinct impressions of something clawed dragging across the walls was visible.

If another person saw all of this, they might have screamed "staged." To Mulder it only verified he was on the right case.

Intrigued, Mulder thanked a few officers, picked up a beverage and a doughnut, and walked out. He had a house to look into an a Hall of Records to visit afterward.

Today was going to be a very busy day.


	10. Examination

August 16th

2:41 P.M.

The Morgue

She had actually used her time in the car the day before wisely, calling ahead and making certain that this first victim was not labeled another animal mutilation. She did not want it release, no matter what. Scully had encountered some problems with families in the past, and she deeply empathized over their remains. Having lost people close to her she felt their pain and had so much sympathy. The idea of closure was sacred to her and to her faith.

Still, as Mulder liked saying, the truth is out there. Without having all the pieces of a crime in one place, finding that truth became much more of a scavenger hunt than it needed to be.

After Mulder had dropped her off, Scully felt as though she had been waiting an eternity to see the body. a need for slept crept over her in this calm and cool oasis and, for a time, she thought she might have daydreamed as the walls seemed to part into scattered images. She kept seeing the house and the houses around it, and the damage that was evident. She kept rolling down those desolate roads, in another time, looking around and listening to the clicking of what sounded like hooves. She heard water moving and - and she found herself staring into the eyes of someone asking her something about the told she needed.

Scully talked to the attendant and found herself hoping that the body had been kept per her specifications. In so many of their cases, a single act of neglect nullified their efforts and thwarted their careful examination. She did not want any of that now and placed on gloves and a mask for the examination.

As she looked at the body before her, Scully was delighted with the fact that the examination room had already been laid out per her instructions, and that the body did not take long to wheel in. The speed and precision was something she found herself intrigued with very much, and wondered if she might have time to look into their procedures at a later date. If they were here for long, the protocols could always be examined, if for no other reason than to make certain that the F.B.I. procedures were the last and best collaborative efforts.

When Scully pulled the shroud aside that covered up the body, everything was revealed. She adjusted the examination lights until they poured out a bright stream ob the remains, and she could see that much of the person seemed to be laid out there. Some of it had even been pieced together as they police tried to figure out what the murder weapon was, and to see whether or not they could pen motive on someone. This was a common procedure after an initial examination, and one that she had done many time. She preferred an in-depth analysis herself, hoping to relay all the details possible.

The devil was in the details, she had heard her father say. This devil was one she did not want walking away from here, not if she could help it.

"Female, age.."

As Scully slogged through the initial stages of the examination, everything seemed normal. The skin of the victim seemed normal and she seemed to be disease-free.

No indicators of anything happening on the parts of her that were still easily noted.

"The heart weight is..."

Various organs on the table, logging every move in a meticulous manner, Scully found herself moving from system to system. This took time and she knew there might be easier ways to do what she was doing. She did not want easier, she want precise.

The organs, strangely, said that nothing was awry. They were all there, all in perfect working condition, not like Scully had expected at all. Had there been an animal they would have undoubtedly taken them and spread them around, making things almost impossible to identify. Even an attacker would have normally shredded them up or removed one or two, especially when this much damage was possible.

Either this was very precise or it had something to note in the "luck" department.

Over and over again, Scully wrote down normal results. Sweat beaded on her head as she talked into the microphone, recording everything for posterity's sake, knowing that people would pour over her notes again and again.

There were always debunkers hoping to derail their investigations and Scully knew she had to take preventative measures against this.

As she went about her examination, taking care to note all the pieces and the way they were scattered, she did stumble onto something odd. There was something about the woman's hands, marks all over the fingers, like they had come into contact with something that was smoldering. She had seen these indication of people that had touched something that was bubbling over, possibly a container with hot liquid in it, but the strange thing was that there were no marks caused by it. Had this victim come into contact with something like that, you would expect her fingertips to be covered with at least the small details of a burning.

Scully looked back over the pictures the body seemed to lay out, trying to find out whether or not the woman had come into contact with some form of fire, then took a scraping for analysis.

"And things start getting odd."


End file.
